


survival doesn't exist to those who cannot die

by faithlethalhane



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlethalhane/pseuds/faithlethalhane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: hollstein zombie apocalypse AU. just a short little piece, really</p>
            </blockquote>





	survival doesn't exist to those who cannot die

Laura tries to scoot closer to you, but the leaves crunch under her boot and you grab her arm in warning. The footsteps from behind your cover pause, and your heart leaps in your throat. You know you’ve been made but there’s no where to go. It’s a highway. Open ground to the infinity.

Beside you, she closes her eyes, dropping her head back against the car. She opens her mouth enough to breathe and that’s when you know she’s praying. She only does that when she’s concentrating so hard she forgets to keep her mouth closed.

Shoes scrape against asphalt as he turns, and you stop breathing. Part of you considers praying too. But that might just set you on fire. Not too helpful for the situation.

You hear metal against metal as he loads a bullet into the chamber of his gun and you know you’re screwed.

“Come out with your hands up.”

His voice is rough, and beside you, her eyes shoot open. Her chin trembles.

She looks you in the eye and you hope she sees your promise: it’ll be okay.

“I said  _come out_.”

You don’t want to deal with someone who sounds like he has a case of the itchy trigger finger, but what else can you do?

Slowly, you lift your hands above your head, higher than the cover of the car hood, and then carefully stand. With some effort, Laura gets to her feet too, spinning to face the man before fully standing too.

He isn’t much to look at. Probably just the invisible banker back when banks were still a thing. But his eyes say crazy and his knuckle white grip on that Glock 19 says paranoid. This is a losing battle.

“Drop it,” he gestures to the rifle strap across your chest with the barrel of his gun.

You sigh. Consider. Sling it off with one hand and toss it at your feet. And you can feel Laura’s shocked stare boring holes into your skull but you don’t look over. You keep your focus completely on whackjob average Joe here.

“You too,” he says.

Laura hesitates. “We need it,” she protests. “We need it against those _things_.”

“Tough  _shit_ ,” he barks, and Laura recoils as he trains his gun on her instead.

“Just-” it comes out too rough; you take a deep breath and try again. “Just do it,” you plead with her.

You glance at her. She’s looking back at you, confusion knitting her brow in that adorable lost puppy way. You nod once, and she looks back to him, reluctantly unholstering her pistol and dropping it in front of her, nose scrunched in distaste.

He tilts his head up, inspecting the both of you.

“What’s in the bag?” he asks. Laura tenses.

“Tampons,” she spits.

He baulks, then recovers, shaking his head to physically rid himself of the image.

If this wasn’t life or death you would’ve laughed.

“Throw it over here,” he orders.

She doesn’t want to, and you don’t know what to tell her. Because she needs some of the things in there. At least not physically. Sure there’s some food, but you have more of that back at camp. She can’t lose her video camera. It’s been her coping mechanism for almost five months now. 

And there’s some blood in there you probably need. It was only going to be good for a few more hours, but it was actual blood. From a blood bank. You might’ve been able to taste something other than the putrid flavor of animal blood. But. Again. Not the end of the world. (Ha, well, that too, but not the end of  _your_  world)

“Laura,” you warn, “just do it.”

Her fingers tighten around the strap of the bag; she doesn’t budge. Panic flares in his eyes and you’re going to regret it but you throw yourself in front of her as he pulls the trigger.

It hits you, well you don’t know where it hits you because every part of your body spikes in pain, burns like a charge radiating out across your chest. You can’t feel your body, you can’t feel where anything is connected, where anything starts or end, and maybe that’s why your knees give out.

You try to inhale but it feels like you’re drowning, and so you cough instead, doubling over until your forehead hits the pavement.

Somewhere in the background you hear another shot, and you really do pray this time that it came from her. 

“ _Carm_ ,” her voice is frantic. You can’t stop coughing long enough to answer. You taste blood, that metallic tang, coating the back of your throat, splashing against the road.

She grabs your waist and rolls you over, that dumb girl brushing hair out of your face with shaking fingers, tracing your jaw with a sentimentality you can’t quite stomach right now.

“You’re such an idiot,” she whipsers, exhaling a pathetic laugh, lips trembling as she tries hard not to cry.

“I’m fine, Laur,” you mumble. It makes you cough again, and a little more blood sprays out.

“What were you  _thinking_?” she berrates, and a few of her tears spill over.

You roll your eyes. “I was thinking that I didn’t want a dead girlfriend.”

She frowns, wiping her cheeks only to smear blood across them instead of tears. “I don’t either,” she argues.

“I’ve been dead for 300+ years.” You laugh but it just ends in more coughing.

She whacks you half-heartedly several times, punctuating them with her frustrated scolding. “ _Carmilla Karnstein you do not get to make jokes right now_.”

You make a face that would suggest you tried to shrug. She huffs.

“Have I told you I like your hair in a braid?”

You can tell she wants to ignore it and focus back on you, but it throws her off. She blushes, hand lifting up to play with the frayed end of the braid. “Yeah?” she asks quietly. “Not too Katniss?”

“Catnip? What’s that have to do with anything?”

It’s her turn to laugh. Genuinely this time. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles.

You hum, nodding with some struggle. “That’s me. Ridiculous Karnstein, taking a bullet for you and your camera.”

Her mouth drops open. “That’s not why I kept it!” she protested.

You smirk. “Just keep telling yourself that, cupcake.”

She glares and maneuvers herself out from under you, only to bend over and try to hike you up into her arms. You push away, shaking your head tiredly. “No, no, no. You’re not carrying me all the way back to camp.”

She raises her eyebrows. “I don’t see you getting there any other way.”

“Just…” you wave your hand dismissively, “just gimme a sec.”

“I’ll give you all the sex you need.” She stresses the ‘x’.

You narrow your eyes at her. “I thought this wasn’t a time for  _joking_.”

She shrugs. “It’s no fair if you get to do it and I don’t.”

You breathe out a laugh of disbelief. “Come on,” you prompt. “Get my gun and let’s go.”

She looks at you uncertainly, but you don’t budge as you look her in her eye. Her eyes melt into concession and she walks the few feet to snatch it up from the ground and bring it back. 

With some difficulty (and a lot of wincing) you managed to sling it back around your shoulder.

“Now,” you agree.

She tilts her head. “Now, what?”

“Now you can carry me.”

She grins broadly, teasing in her eyes as she forms a smirk out of that adorable grin. “You’re giving me  _permission_?”

You nod. “Yes. You may.”

She bites her lip, and you see deliberation cross her face before she ducks forward to kiss your temple. “Okay.”

Clumsily, the both of you organize your limbs into some kind of piggy-back fashion, and she hunkers down, ducking her chin down and starting in the right direction. She’s so much tougher than anyone knows. Probably even more than you know.

At first she walks in silence, and you let her because quite frankly you’re too tired to even think of something to say.

But then you hear her voice, and you fight the sleep weighing down your eyelids. “Hmm?” you ask.

“A-are you gonna be okay?” she repeats, just as quietly as before.

You sigh. Your head feels like it’s expanding from the inside out, and your fingers feel a little numb, the pins and needles feeling crawling up your calves. You’re definitely not alright, but you can’t die. Sadly, that’s your prerogative.

But the heavy silence that falls after tells you she’s terrified.

You shift your head to rest your chin on her shoulder. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ll live.”

You wrap your arms a little tighter around her neck, imitating a hug as best as you can.

“Promise?”

Your heart catches in your throat. She’s just so innocent. Too good for the world. And you love her for it. “I promise, Laura.”

You feel her relief in the way her torso relaxes. You kiss her shoulder, leaving your lips there. “I won’t leave you.”

You wake up in your makeshift tent, sore as hell, but still alive, Laura asleep, head on your shoulder, fingers tangled loosely in your hair. And for the first time, you’re glad you’ve been damned to immortality.


End file.
